


Mommy is Not Pleased

by KassieProphet



Series: Ghost Prompts [41]
Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: F/M, Humiliation, Meme, Mommy Domme, Over the Knee, POV Female Character, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:00:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25473529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KassieProphet/pseuds/KassieProphet
Summary: Tumblr Prompt:Have you heard of that tiktok audio of the yagami guy going "mommy please"? That as a papa fic.
Relationships: papa emeritus/female reader
Series: Ghost Prompts [41]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1536134
Comments: 16
Kudos: 16





	Mommy is Not Pleased

**Author's Note:**

> Anon is referencing [this](https://www.tiktok.com/music/Good-boy-6720102145443646213?lang=en).

He knows what he’s done. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be hiding like a scared little boy. You don’t storm down the Abbey halls so much as you _stride with purpose_. The other Siblings make sure to get out of your way: you’re not known for being a shrinking violet.

You spy one of his band Ghouls. You know his unofficial moniker, but you’re not here to be friendly.

“Ghoul. Where is your master?”

The hellbeast eyes you with interest, its tongue lolling out to lick his fangs.

If he were yours to touch, you’d be grabbing his jaw and his balls to make him focus. All you can do, however, is meet his gaze with a steely one of your own.

His mouth cracks into a grin under his mask.

“Sound booth.”

You arch an eyebrow. “Oh is he? What a mixed blessing.”

The Ghoul tilts his head, leering. You snap your fingers at him.

“No,” you bark at him, and he shuffles backwards, still smiling.

You ~~storm~~ stride with purpose toward the studio, slamming the door open once you get there. For a brief second you see Papa sitting on a stool, and then he’s trying to duck out of view. Leaning forward, you jab at the intercom.

“I’m going to count to 10, little prince. If I have to come in there of my own accord, you’re not going to be very happy with the consequences.”

You wait. Nothing.

“One.”

Nada.

“Two.”

Nil.

“Three.”

Zilch.

When you get to five you say, “I will be adding on to your punishment for every upper number I have to count.”

You get to eight and a half when the door to the booth clicks open. Papa is kneeling his haunches and looking up at you with wide, kohl-rimmed eyes. His eyes flick to what you’re holding.

“No wait—hang on!” You walk forward. “Stop! You don’t wanna do this!” 

You grab his jaw. “You know there are _rules_. You agreed to them. Now, you’re going to crawl back over to that stool and kneel there like a good little prince.”

“Listen—I’ve been a good boy … I’ve been a good boy, Mommy, _please_.”

You bend at the waist so you can meet his gaze. “Unless you want to safeword, this is happening. Don’t make it harder on yourself.”

His eyes shimmer, but—like the good boy he professes to be—he shuffles around on his knees so he can crawl back over to the stool. He gets back into the kneeling position. You pad over and give his cheek a featherlight touch.

“There now, little prince. Doesn’t it feel better to follow the rules?”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“Ok, now be a good boy and open.”

He balks as if he thought one small gesture of obedience would get him out of his punishment.

“Don’t mess around. _Open_.”

“I’VE BEEN SUCH A GOOD BOY.” You grab his head. “DON’T DO IT!” You shimmy the leather strap around his head, “ _NOOOOOOOO_.” You pop the correct side of the double penis gag into his mouth. He whines around the silicon cock, but you lock it in place, depriving him of what he wants most.

“Three taps, as usual. Nod if you understand.”

Pouty eyes shoot daggers at you, but he nods.

“Ok, up. Now strip.” He shifts and whimpers. You tap your foot. “Strip. C’mon, we both know it’s nothing I haven’t seen before, I do bathe you after all.”

Sad puppy eyes that do not move you at all cast your way as he relieves himself of his vestments and undergarments. He folds each article neatly and puts them in a pile to the side. When he’s done, he stands for your inspection, his hands covering his cock.

You flick the back of one hand, “You know better,” and he pulls them away.

His cock is half hard— _typical._ The rest of him is as expected—slightly doughy and covered in a layer of down. You lean forward and squish his tummy.

“You’ve been lax on your exercise regime—a lapse we will correct in a separate session.”

It’s a joke. He knows you love his pudge. The regimen is the nights you spend fucking him.

You perch on the stool, then pat your thighs. “Since no one else seems fit to discipline you right, I guess it falls to me to do it—as usual.”

He arranges himself over your lap, his legs cross at the ankles and his hands gripping the stool rungs. You rub your hands over his bottom, admiring where there are still yellow, healing splotches.

“Now, I _did_ have a number in mind, but since you’ve been so difficult, I’m going to spank you until I feel the message about your behavior sinks in.”

You crack your hand down on the crease of his leg, and you hear him exhale hard. Next you crack down on the meat of his ass cheek. You repeat the process on all his sit spots over an over—only varying when you feel a patch of skin is too pale and needs to match the blush of the rest of his posterior.

He takes it so well for a while—so well that you don’t feel the message has reached home—and you keep going. You ignore him when he starts to squirm, but by the time he’s squirming _and_ sniffling, your hand is getting raw. You stop to flex it and shake it out.

“Look at me,” you command, and his face tilts up at you, other end of the gag wobbling. His face is red, nose running, and his eyes are shiny. 

So, not enough.

“Stretch, and then back over.”

As he does so, wobbling on unused legs, you produce a small wooden spoon from your habit. He whimpers.

“I _will_ drive home the consequences of your actions. Now: _over_.”

He settles himself like before, and you don’t hesitate to turn his ass from a pretty pink to a popping cherry with each sting of the spoon. He squirms and flinches as you correct him, but it’s only when you hear his hiccoughing sobs do you deem the lesson well learned.

You sink your hand into his hair to massage his scalp.

“There now, there. I think you’ve got it. Such a good little prince. Mommy thinks you took that so well. Now. Go stand in the corner, my good boy.”

On shaky legs, Papa stands. His face is red, with his eyes to match, covered in tear streaks. You reach up and thumb away the fresh tears, then turn him to the corner with a gentle shove.

“Hands on the back of your head. Get your nose right in there. There you go. ”

You take out a curled up magazine to read while Papa has time to consider his actions. At one point, two Siblings enter the outer room, see you, then turn around—but otherwise the two of you remain undisturbed.

Looking at your watch, you decide time’s up, and you toss the magazine down. You walk over to Papa, kissing his shoulder.

“What a good little prince.” You turn him around. “Ok, pick up your clothes—keep them nice and neat! We’re going back to your quarters where you’re going to give Mommy a nice little pick me up since I’ve had such a hard day.”

You bat at the protruding dildo, and it bobs obscenely as Papa’s eyes cross down at it. 

“If you’re very good at it, maybe I’ll even let you cum tonight.”


End file.
